Consisted of the Strange, and Twisted and Deranged
by Take A Bite Of My Heart
Summary: Meet Hanna Kent. Enter a body, a murder, and mystery. Meet Sherlock Holmes. An adventure can only ensue. Rated T for mild gore and language. No slash.
1. You'll Do Fine

_AN: Hi there! I don't own a speck of dust relating to Sherlock BBC. Reviews are really loved._

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><p>Finding a dead body isn't pleasant. Especially if it's six in the morning, your alarm clock is broken, and someone's been breaking into your apartment. Also, if you're alone and a stereotypical tall, dark, mysterious character appears right in front of you. But I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start from the beginning, and let's meet one Hanna Kent.<p>

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><p>It was 4:29 A.M, and Hanna Kent was up. She'd been up for ten minutes already, her sharp and slightly translucent grey eyes watching the clock with the concentration of a hunter. She checked her watch on her wrist, or should I say, watches. Three watches were piled up on a slim wrist, all telling different times. Finally, the clock's green digital numbers flickered to 4:30. Hanna counted.<p>

_ One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

She glanced at the clock. Her eyes narrowed. It was broken. It still told the correct time, she'd give the blasted thing that, but that wasn't the point. It was the alarm she wanted. Snarling quietly, Hanna flipped the clock on it's back and popped open the cover. Broken wires and unconnected cables snaked around the battery. After a moment, Hanna glanced at her door. She counted the locks.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five!_

The sliding chain lock was swinging gently, while the others where all dead bolted. Again. This is the third time. I must really buy another lock. Hanna wasn't really bothered by the fact that probably someone broke into her flat and disconnected her alarm. It was the fact that they got away with it. She could care less that her clock was broken, or someone was trespassing on her property. It was more that Hanna couldn't pin who it was. And, the fact that he/she/it could get past her door. With a insolent huff, she began her day. It began with her bed.

With a throw of sheets that would have impressed a matador, Hanna removed all bedding from her mattress. In a regimented fashion, Hanna began tucking in the sheets, neatly. Within minutes, her bed was finished, hospital corners and all. After dressing, she unlocked her door.

_Clockwise twist. Counterclockwise, then back. Combination: 24-09-45. Twist._

Finally, she reached the lock that was keeping her knowledge in jeopardy. Giving the inanimate object a glare, she strolled out the door, tried it, then after three flights of stairs, left the building.

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><p>Hanna was enjoying the weather in Central London. Foggy, cold, yet dry, it was a very good day in her book. She'd dressed suitably, as always. Dark navy jacket, straight black pants, and sturdy polished boots. Right at this moment, Hanna was making her way across 4 roads, 2 streets, and 5 alleyways to get to a very nice park. It didn't really count as a park, honestly, it was tiny patch of green nestled between Speedy's Sandwich Cafe and a tall, abandoned building. It was locked by a high, tall, and gothic wrought iron gate.<p>

Extracting a simple lock pick from her pocket, Hanna approached the lock, and with a quick sideways glance, she fumbled with the lock until the lock clicked successfully.

"Aha! Result."

The gates creaked open, and Hanna slipped inside. It was then when she kicked something slightly squishy and definitely organic. Looking down, Hanna's pale hand flew to her mouth, holding in a sharp gasp. Quickly, a chain of thought flew through her head.

_Do not breathe. Do not move. Look. Observe. Decomposition rate: little, body must have not been here for longer than two to three days. Victim: young male, Caucasian, young professional. No signs of blood or struggle._

After this rather...comforting chain of thought, Hanna closed her eyes. She felt paralyzed. Not by the body, but, really, by the possibility that the murderer might still be around. It was unlikely, her rational mind knew that, but some strange part of her that still dictated what little emotion left told her to run like a deer, just away, away, away. Hanna tried to think comforting thoughts.

If you know not the enemy and yourself, you win never win your battles. If you know the enemy but not yourself, you will win half your battles. If you know your enemy, and yourself, you will have victory in all your battles.

Swallowing hard, she fell towards the tall grass, hands and fingers splayed until she was at level with the corpse. Dark and wavy hair tumbled out of her jacket to meet the grassy lot. With a bare finger, she brushed the skin lightly. It was cold, the skin was 'gloving', or sloughing off with the touch of her hand.

_Rigor mortis: none. Effects have worn of. Puts time of death at..._

"Approximately two to three days ago, noting the rate of decomposition." drawled a lofty male voice.

Hana jumped up and put all force as she could into a sharp jab to a neck. Angrily, she pushed down the person the voice was coming from and, well, sat on the said person, wrapping hands tightly around a neck. Her breath forming steam puffs as her heart pounded furiously, Hanna began as calmly as she could.

"Who...who are you?"

The person, who now she realized was a man, looked at her with as much dignity he could manage, and after attempting to speak, he got a constrained windpipe for his trouble. Quickly releasing, Hanna's hands expertly grip the back of a neck.

The man greedily sucked in air, then gasped. 

_Idiot. Even a child knows that after a choking, your windpipe expands then quickly contracts before returning to normal size._

After allowing a few moments for the bastard to sputter, she tightened her grip.

"As I said before...who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes. And may I have the honour of knowing yours?"

The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.

"Hanna Kent. Now, I would like to know why are you here, why did you sneak up around me, and by any chance have you been entering without my permission to my flat?"

Sherlock coughed once more, then began speaking, inserting as much contempt and arrogance as possible.

"Dead body, I couldn't resist. Another person looking at a dead body, I saw how you looked at it, no normal person would do that. And no, I have not been sneaking about your flat."

"Good. Now, I am going to let you get up. If you attempt to run, expect a sharp pain then an unexplainable memory loss."

"There's no need for threats."

"There is if you do not comply."

After a pause, Hanna slowly lifted herself up, and released her grip. Sherlock scoffed, and righted his jacket. His eyes narrowed as his looked sharply at her, then turned away, turning his attention to the body. Flipping the male around, the cause of death became obvious: more than ten deep stabs in the body where visible. His eyebrows drew together. Hanna spoke.

"There's no blood. None on the dirt, on the grass, or on the fence."

Sherlock ignored her. He quickly checked the inside of the male's arms. No puncture marks, in fact, it was impeccable. Drawing a phone for his long coat, he called.

"Found one. Two doors down. No blood. Multiple stab wounds. What? Why does he need to come? I won't work with him. Can't. With Sarah today. I'll find somebody."

Hanging up the phone, Sherlock muttered angrily. Hanna, however, had been watching him carefully. Glancing upwards, he looked at Hanna up and down.

"You'll do fine."

"Sorry, but what did you say?"

"You heard me perfectly well, and I know you heard Lestrade."

"What makes you so sure I will help you?"

Sherlock sighed with exaggerated patience. Hanna's eyes narrowed. She did not like others to treat her the way he was treating her.

"Do I have to spell it out for you? Obvious military training, lock picking case, a knife hidden in your pocket. You're desperate for anything interesting."

"Desperate? I have been called many things, but never desperate. And, I am sure you would not- wait, what was your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

Hanna grinned, a serpent mixed with a Machiavelli poker player.

"You will do fine, Mr Sherlock. You will do fine."


	2. An Eye For An Eye

_AN: Thank you for the reviews! They are really much appreciated. I don't own anything relating to Sherlock BBC. Also, a quick note that's really important, all the odd chapters will be more of Hanna's perspective, and the even chapters will be from Sherlock's perspective. Third person, as always._

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><p>It took only a few minutes for Lestrade and his company to arrive at the grassy lot. It wasn't the normal police parade, with sirens and police tape and young constables looking for anything to get them promoted. Sherlock could only scoff as Lestrade attempted to unlock the gates. A quick backwards glance and Sherlock noted what's-her-face Kent also shared his amused sentiment.<p>

She piqued his interest, he'll give her that, but Sherlock didn't appreciate being choked. Again. Ever since the 'Blind Banker' deal, it was a bit more personal when someone choked him. What's-her-face was a much more interesting person than all the other little people around. They were too easy.

_This one is different._

After watching Lestrade struggle with the lock for a few moments, it was getting annoying. Swiftly, he pushed the gates open, and was met by a very ruffled DI.

"It was open the whole time? Why didn't you- oh, never mind. So, we've got Donovan with us, sorry, Gregson, me, Jones, and who did you say was going instead of Anderson?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but then he was interrupted by her.

"Jane Smith."

Sherlock looked back at what's-her-face. Now she'd gotten his attention. How could he have not noticed?

_Oh, so stupid. It was so obvious._

Sherlock didn't want to interfere with what's-her-face's problems. Lestrade, however, fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

"Ah, mice to meet you Ms Smith. So, can you tell me anything about the body?"

Sherlock was in a mild state of shock when she smiled cordially. It was a whole shift. Not in appearance, but her soul seemed to have changed at that moment.

"Well, Mr Lestrade, there's no trace of blood anywhere, even though there's lots of stab wounds. "

She checked her watches.

"Oh, I apologize, Mr Lestrade, but I'm really late for something, but I'm really glad to have help."

With another smile, she walked out of the lot. Donovan approached Sherlock.

"You finally got a nice one, haven't you, freak?"

But his mind was else where.

"Um, yes, sure, whatever, um, I'm going to go now."

And with that, he ran off. What's-her-face left no trace of her whereabouts. It seemed as she disappeared.

_Of course she would have ran. Think. At her rate, most likely to be across two streets, four roads, and four or five alleys. _

A virtual map had spawned in his mind. It was time for the hunt.

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><p>Even with Sherlock's broad and swift strides, a dramatic coat swishing about didn't provide much in the way of aerodynamics. But there was something strangely comforting about running about. He'd been running across a road when, landing on the sidewalk, he'd crashed into what's-her-face Kent. Now she seemed back to her normal appearance. Serious, concentrated, and planned. She was about to wriggle out again when he grabbed her wrist firmly.<p>

_She's was going somewhere specific. She found something around the body, the card in her hand is blank except for a raven. It's expensive parchment, and the bird is hand-drawn. She knows about this murder._

"What do you know? And why did you go all 'Jane Smith' on Lestrade? I know you wanted to hide something, but not the card you found."

What's-her-face smirked. It was really getting annoying. Why couldn't people just tell him things and not waste his time? This insolent person was adamant on pissing him off.

"Do you think I would tell someone like you? No, that would take all the fun out of it. If you were duller, I would possibly tell you, but for someone like you? No. But, I suppose, you are not really as bright as I would have hoped. Walk with me."

With that, removed her wrist form his grip and stalked off, not even bothering to look if he had followed her. Muttering angrily at himself, he willingly trailed behind her. Soon, as it always happened, the crush of people filled the streets to the brim, and it was getting difficult to tell where what's-her-face was going.

Or, for that matter, where what's-her-face was. Finally, just when he'd about lost her, he spied a figure pause in front of an alley, then move forward. When Sherlock caught up, there she was, sitting on empty milk crates.

"Before I tell you why I fooled Lestrade, I think we need a trade. I am not just going to spill out anything to anyone. No, there needs to be a price. So, this is my dilemma."

She hopped off the crates.

"Deduce me. I can see it. How you look at people. Never has a person done that to me, not even your-"

She stopped short.

"Well, let's keep that for another day. So, an eye for an eye. An answer for an answer."

Sherlock was intrigued. Well, he would really love to know why what's-her-face did it, and it didn't seem like a bad deal. He quite liked it when he could show off.

"Okay. Your name is Hanna Kent. German pronunciation, but you don't have an accent. Your English has a bit of an accent, so I can infer that English is either your second language, which I highly doubt due to your general grammar. So, second choice, you must have learn several languages. Your skin in pale, but I can see signs of sun damage. You spent time abroad. Not for vacation, your clothes are at least two years old, you can't afford anything else. You have military training, and you've shot guns, I can tell by the callouses on the inside of your left index and thumb. Not the British, you have a high position, you couldn't have been in the British Army, they wouldn't let a girl get so high up. You were high up in the ranks, your general demeanor of superiority is over-powering.

"But you must have some specialized training. You can conceal two knives and one improvised bow and arrow in your shoe heels and left jacket pocket. Well, it isn't very impressive. But you haven't been in the military for some time. You miss it. But why?"

Hanna smiled.

"You've exceeded my standards. So, I supposed, I did promise you an answer. I've been involved in several cases with Lestrade in my younger days, but I wasn't involved with the police. I got sent off to work in the Israel Military Corps, and I heard someone took my place. After that, I worked with the US Army. And, I got myself an honourable discharge. I got involved with the British government after that, and I cannot get Lestrade involved with this. Neither you."

"What is it then?"

"Ah, gotcha. An answer for an answer. My turn. What is your relationship with one Mr Jim Moriarty?"

Sherlock stood aback. He'd heard whispers, by the cabbie, by the Black Lotus. He'd never quite expected what's-her-face to know about Moriarty.

"None. How do you know about him?"

"Let's keep that for another day. But, Sherlock, that day is coming very soon."

She stared at him with her odd grey eyes, and handed him the card. He looked down at it, and by the time he looked back up again, she was gone.

What's-her-face was becoming more intriguing.


	3. A Warning

_AN: Thank you for the reviews! Really, they help. I don't own anything pertaining to Sherlock BBC. Oh, and expect updates on the weekends. Thank you!_

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><p>Hanna really was one for theatrical movements. Even as a an army veteran, she'd always loved to make an impression. Dramatic entrances weren't her thing really, it was more the exists. It gave her an opportunity to show off her skills, whether it was involving knives or not.<p>

She'd already been gone by the time he'd looked up, just a simple trick she'd picked up. She wasn't gone, of course. What fun was it if you couldn't see the person's expression? Sherlock had looked up and around, back at the card, then stuffed it into his rather overly-showy coat.

That was all she needed. Now, Hanna had something to do. Reaching into the pocket of her grey sweater, she revealed a smart phone. As she started to search something, a call came in. The blood drained from her angular face. Hanna's number was private, she'd never given her number to anyone, well, at least, not this phone. She glanced at the number. Blocked. With ever-so-slightly trembling hands, she answered. A slightly guttural voice leeched through the speakers, with just a hint of anger and sharpness to it.

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><p>"Hello doll."<p>

"How did-how did you get this number?"

"I know someone that has all the numbers."

Hanna felt her breath get caught in her throat. She tried swallowing, but her mouth was too dry.

_Calm yourself, Kent. Learn to control your emotions. That is, if you have any._

"Why are you calling me?"

"Did you think you could meddle without being found?"

"Yes."

"You were wrong. A word of advice to you, doll, and Sherlock-"

"How do you know about him?"

"Back off. You were useful, but now you aren't."

"I thought you would leave me alone. I did what I did. I hated it."

"That was why you were useful. A great asset. But now, you're a loose end. We all know what happens to loose ends."

"They end up dead or-or worse."

"So, you know what to do, doll. For us."

"And if I do not comply? If I don't 'back off'?"

The voice laughed cruelly.

"Oh, I won't see how you won't. Just remember something, doll."

"What?"

"You must tell Sherlock what he needs to know, and what he must _never_ know."

The line went dead.

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><p>Hanna's pale fingers fluttered, then she dropped the phone. Her heart was racing. Her breathing was shallow. Looking around, she started to run.<p>

_How did they know? Where can I go? _

All she could do right now was run. With dark hair flying out, she didn't care of she bumped into someone. She didn't have the usual grace with her stride. Now, it was a wild and frantic sprint, fear sparking doubts and some strange feeling, one that she hadn't felt in a while: guilt.

_Emotions are caused by the subconscious, as a response to what the body is experiencing. _

Maybe she'd already gone mad. Thinking scientifically when she knew she was probably about to die.

_Death: the termination of biological functions that sustain a living organism. Cessation of breathing. Cardiac arrest. Pallor mortis. Livor mortis. Algor mortis. Rigor mortis. Decomposition. Skeletonization. _

These thoughts were comforting. Maybe knowing what was going to happen soothed any renegade panic. She'd still been in a haze when she reached her apartment. With a breath, she unlocked the five locks, each time paranoia growing. Pushing the creaky door open, she almost gasped when a shadowy figure was gently brushing the corner of her bed.

Reaching into her pockets, she grasped her hidden knife. Creeping slowly, she raised her hand, and plunged it downward, with full intention to kill. That was when she did her first mistake. She figure turned around and kicked her sharp in the gut, making her inhale sharply, dropping to her knees. The figure drew a handgun.

_Never bring a knife to a gun fight. _

The figure pointed it towards Hanna's , with a pause, as though he was thinking better of it, he didn't cock it. Instead, he flipped it around and struck her with the butt of the gun. Hanna wasn't a stranger to pain, but being kicked in the stomach and then pistol-whipped did affect a person.

A weaker person would have been unconscious. Hanna wasn't, whether by sheer will to live or some cruel part of herself that didn't let herself fall into that. Pale eyes bleary with pain, she was vaguely award that her entire face was in pain and her attacker was starting to speak.

"Well, doll, I thought you needed to learn your lesson to back off. You didn't seem as though you would. Now look at yourself. You're getting old, doll. Here's a handkerchief. I do hate to see that pretty face in such a mess, doll."

The shadowy figure bent down and with the gentlest touches, wiped blood off of Hanna's face.

"So, doll, have you learned your lesson? I think so."

And with a a turn, he left the dark flat. Right now, Hanna just wanted to curl up. Dragging herself up, she staggered out of the flat. She wasn't safe any more. She didn't now where to turn. And right now, her nose was sending up waves of pain to her head. She couldn't see straight. In all honestly, she really didn't know where she was going. Somehow, Hanna stumbled onto the street and let her feet guide her though a route she knew.

Soon, though, as pain always did, her knees began to buckle. Vision began to swim as Hanna struggled to stay conscious. She needed medical attention. All could she hope for was the house next to Speedy's Cafe.

_How did I even get here?_

She didn't even try to ring the doorbell. She just sort of collapsed on the doorstep, using most of an effort to bang her shoulder against the frame, hoping to make enough noise to make the residents of this flat to notice. Where was she anyways? Looking up, she could make out 221B Baker Street.

The bitter taste of metallic blood filled her mouth soon enough. Did anyone hear? Or was she going to die here, left on a doorstep like some homeless drug addict? But, just as she was going to drift away, the doorway opened, the a slightly scruffy man.

"Who's there?"

_Look down, just look down_

Surprisingly, the man did look down, and cursed in shock.

"Who are you? Never mind, I'll get you inside."

The man quickly and gingerly pulled Hanna out of the doorway, and somehow, up a flight of stairs into a small and slightly disorganized flat. The man called out.

"Sherlock? Do we have any anti-septic?"

Whatever mentally sharp part of Hanna that was still awake instantly alerted her.

"No! I...I cannot be...here."

Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat it out onto the badly-carpeted floor.

"Sherlock... I must leave. Now."

The man looked at her oddly, but ignored her.

"You're in no condition to leave."

_Why will people not listen to me? Do I have a face that does not inspire listening to?_

By here position on the floor, all she could see was the legs are shined shoes of Sherlock enter the doorway. His voice soon filled the room.

"John, why do you need the-what the hell? It's you! Hanna Kent!"

_So, the scruffy small-ish one must be John._

A rustle of activity moved over this time, when finally John managed to clean her up pretty well. Sherlock had a running commentary on the whole thing. John, however soon got fed up.

"Sherlock- can you let the girl explain instead of you deducing everything?"

Hanna glanced at John appreciatively. Sherlock's voice, while smooth, was drilling a hole into her head. John smiled tightly, but it was obvious he was pondering what Hanna had said. Finally, after John has given her a warm mug of tea, she raised herself as best as she could.

"So, can you explain what happened to you?"

Hanna swallowed as best as she could, and attempted to fix her appearance.

"A-um-a mirror would be nice, John."

Soon enough, John had handed one to her, and with a deep breath, Hanna looked at her reflection. Her hairline was even darker than normal. A gash stretched across her eyebrow to her ear. Her right cheek was bruised heavily, and her nose wasn't broken, thank goodness, but mangled pretty badly. Her lower lip was torn, and she felt her inner cheek's flesh was ragged. Still it wasn't her face that worried her, it was more internal injuries. But she wouldn't tell that to her company. Instead, put the mirror down and began talking hesitantly.

"After I had left, I mean, after I had given you the card, I received a call. It was from-from someone I used to, erm, work with. And, well, he told me to back off. And he told me to tell you to back off. I thought he did not mean it, but, well, as I went to my flat, he was there. And I-I tried to kill him, because, because then it would stop. Everything would stop. But, he, got a pistol and, well, gave me a second warning."

John looked wide eyed through the entire explanation, but Sherlock's eyes were closed, fingertips touching. John still had some questions, however.

"Who was your co-worker? Wait, what was your name, anyway? I didn't quite catch it."

Hanna started, and she spied Sherlock glancing at her, almost daring her if she was going to give an alias or her name.

"Hanna Kent. And I cannot tell you who the person was. If I do-well-"

"She'll be killed. Loose ends, so obvious."

Sherlock had interrupted, and Hanna thought she caught a glance of worry in his eyes before they melted back into their normal aloof state.

"I was never here. I-I need to go."

Hanna tried to stand up, only to fall again.

"Oh no, Hanna, you aren't leaving. Why don't you stay here for today?"

"I cannot let them find me. And, Sherlock and you will be hurt."

"No, we don't care about that- _right, _Sherlock?"

He sniffed.

"Right."

Hanna attempted to smile.

"Thank you, John and Sherlock. Thank you."


End file.
